Chapter 267
Chapter 267
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 267
Chapter Title: 74. When the Night is Long, the Dream is Deep (6)
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As light blazed forth, the darkness withered away.
When the darkness rose up, this time the light dimmed and faded.
Countless lights bloomed and withered.
The massive darkness tore apart and reformed, over and over.
The darkness roared ferociously.
The light burned brilliantly, crying out in response.
Light and darkness clashed against each other endlessly.
Shattered fragments of light and pieces of darkness scattered everywhere.
I stared at those fragments in a daze.
Every scattering shard of light held a piece of someone's life.
They were all people who had walked with me. They were all paths I had traveled alongside them.
That's why I knew.
There wasn't a single moment in their fierce lives that wasn't precious.
The glory they had earned through their blood, sweat, and brutal struggles.
Those radiant achievements were now crumbling into dust, scattering in all directions.
All for my sake alone.
What the hell was I worth?
My chest felt like it was being ripped apart.
I screamed endlessly.
"Back off! Stop fighting!"
But not a single one heeded my words.
They pressed forward and fought.
They hurled their entire lives toward the overwhelming darkness.
They collided and were chipped away.
And so, amid the flickering of light and darkness,
"Greedy king, do not seek to sway me." "Even if you offered entire warehouses filled with gold and jewels, they would not be worth a single copper coin given to me by your people."
⟨ Golden Poem ⟩
A low, song-like voice wormed into my ears.
It was a tale unknown to the world—a story of a kingdom's downfall,
a song about a money ghost's whim, fighting for a thousand days over a single tarnished copper coin.
The Mercenary King's Golden Poem.
I turned my head.
I saw the back of a man clad in shabby leather armor.
A yellowish flash gathered at the tip of his sword shot toward the darkness.
That was the beginning.
Lights exploded from all directions.
And wherever the light faded, there stood a man or woman without fail.
A giant knight in iron plate, a swordsman whose blade had been deflected once, a commander in ornate uniform. A freak in clownish garb.
Heroes who had dominated an era or represented a nation recited the epics of their life's achievements as they lived them.
Forgotten legends and heroic lays echoed from every side.
Blades of every color bloomed from the tips of their swords.
Sharp ones, heavy ones, flashy ones.
Sword gleams of different natures pierced, tore, and shredded the darkness.
The darkness screamed in agony.
But I knew.
Heroic lays alone couldn't subdue the darkness.
To drive it back to the abyss, something greater was needed—an achievement beyond compare.
An feat that the world would call a miracle, unreachable by human hands.
Something like,
"A blade no sword could ever sever." "Piercing the dragon's scales, drinking its searing blood." "With a red-hot sword, I shall cleave its very heart."
⟨ Dragon-Slaying Poem ⟩
The Dragon Slayer raised his sword, murmuring softly.
It was the final verse of the Dragon-Slaying Poem, one I could only recite after offering my soul as sacrifice.
In that instant, a true Myth manifested in the world.
Aaahhh.
The white dragon roared as it soared upward.
The unique authority of the Dragon Slayer who had achieved the dragon-slaying feat.
Dragon's Manifestation.
Its razor claws rent the blackness. Vast wings tore the darkness's true form asunder. Its mighty jaws clamped the screaming night by the throat.
The darkness crushed beneath the white dragon thrashed violently.
Countless tentacles sprouted from its body.
The tentacles became sharp spears, piercing the pristine white dragon.
The dragon's form scattered.
Kraaaahhh.
The darkness roared savagely, jaws clamped around the dragon's head before it fully dispersed.
And then, she stepped forward.
"One swing scatters blood into rivers, flesh enriching the soil." "With the giants' blood and flesh, I renew this land." "Gate of Genesis."
⟨ Agnes Bayern ⟩
The five inaugural marquises who ended the Great War.
Among them, the one called the strongest.
The Iron-Blooded Sword Marquise, Agnes Bayern, raised her blazing sword of light high.
"Gate of Genesis."
She brought down the sword she had raised high.
In that moment, the colossal darkness—the vast world itself—
Crack.
Split clean in two.
I stared blankly at the rift.
Grab.
Suddenly, someone seized me by the scruff of the neck.
Whoosh!
And hurled me through without a chance to speak.
Through the fissure Agnes had created.
The Mercenary King poked his head through from the other side of the rift.
[Farewell, Gruhon.]
I glimpsed beyond his grinning shoulder.
The darkness reforming. Knights standing before it, souls ablaze once more.
Ah, no!
I screamed and lunged back toward the knights.
But before my feet could touch the other side of the rift—
Snap.
The fissure vanished.
Thus, I was left alone in yet another darkness.
A hollow world devoid of the ravenous predator or the twinkling stars.
I lost track of time's passage.
No—even whether time was passing at all was beyond me.
Was I trapped in a single frozen instant, or drifting through time like flowing water?
Nothing was certain.
I simply existed.
Neither alive nor dead,
Somewhere between the abyss and the surface.
In that ambiguous boundary.
I wandered the empty darkness, over and over.
Groping through the void, I roamed the blackness in search of a way back to them.
But no matter how I groped and wandered, I couldn't find the path back.
In this perfectly isolated world, the only way to return was to force a breach through the wall.
Yet I lacked the power for it now.
I was far too frail.
I gathered my strength several times to punch through the wall, only to realize how pathetic I truly was.
A helplessness I'd never felt in life gnawed at me.
I grew exhausted, eventually curling up with my knees to my chest.
All that remained for me was a faintly glowing fragment of soul.
I peered into that soul fragment, endlessly replaying Idrian Leonberger's life.
Sometimes I just watched it unfold; other times, I looped specific moments countless times.
The happiest, the saddest, the most joyful, the most fun.
I chewed over every one, again and again.
It was the only warmth in this cold world, the sole pillar holding my crumbling self together.
I clung to the most intense moments of my life, repeating that time infinitely.
Then, at some point, I grew numb.
Forgetting what I was doing—or what I even meant to do.
I pondered, but no answers came.
The frustration drove me to pace in circles, agonizing over it.
Then I forgot even that.
I sat blankly, clutching my head.
My mind was a mess.
As I wandered like that for ages, a sudden sense of wrongness hit me.
I scanned around, seeking the source of the unease.
And finally found it.
In the corner of this empty world, a flickering little light wavering.
I jolted up and raced toward the light.
At last, I reached it.
A small campfire burning. A single mage shrouded head to toe in a pure white robe.
The mage glanced up at me casually.
"You look a mess."
Her gentle voice made me chuckle despite myself.
In this empty world, I'd finally gone mad, it seemed.
But it didn't feel bad.
A companion met in a world of nothing.
Even if it was a hallucination I'd conjured, it was still welcome.
Far better than being utterly alone.
Thud.
I plopped down before the campfire.
"Brings back memories. You appeared out of nowhere in the dead of night when we first met, too. Though back then, you were just a sword."
"Yeah, it was like that."
I stroked my chin, staring at her intently.
Ophelia gazed back with a soft smile.
Meeting those clear eyes stirred another vague unease.
Then it hit me late.
The source of the wrongness.
The distinctive high lich aura that should have been there... was absent.
She was fresh and vibrant, like the day we first met four centuries ago.
At first, I brushed it off—hallucination or not, what did it matter if she brimmed with life or reeked of undeath?
But as time passed, the unease grew stronger.
Was this Ophelia before me truly a phantasm?
It started as mere doubt, but soon turned to confusion.
"Sometimes what you see isn't everything—but sometimes, it is."
She smiled at my turmoil.
Her words so clear, her smile so vivid.
I couldn't help but ask.
"Are you the real Ophelia?"
She let out a small laugh at my question.
"Gruhon. That's the most ridiculous question you've ever asked me."
Her clear laughter ringing in my ears left me stunned.
"But as always, I'll answer your question with all sincerity."
Ophelia sprang to her feet.
"I'm no illusion."
And she pulled me into an embrace.
The warmth from her body so vivid, I realized it instinctively.
The Ophelia before me was no mere phantasm.
"You held on well."
"How in the world...?"
I was bewildered.
By her appearance here, by her unchanged form from life.
"More importantly, shouldn't you be getting back?"
Ophelia gently slipped from my arms.
She fixed me with a steady gaze.
Her golden eyes, brimming with her usual mystique, snapped me to attention.
"Right! Ophelia! Send me back!"
If she'd come here for me, she must know how to return. Urgency surged.
"We have to hurry! Even now—"
"Back where?"
"To Agnes and the others, obviously..."
Ophelia regarded me quietly.
Her eyes seemed to say that wasn't where I belonged.
I scowled.
Then, suddenly, my mind went blank.
It felt like I'd forgotten something enormous.
Something vitally important and precious.
"I'm too late."
Ophelia sighed softly at my expression.
Then her gaze fell to my hand.
"But not too late, it seems."
She exhaled in relief. I followed her eyes downward.
And froze.
Clutched tight in my hand—a tiny, faintly glowing fragment gripped so hard my knuckles were white, as if I'd never let it go.
The moment I saw that tiny piece, a sharp pang hit my chest.
"When the night is long, the dream runs deep."
Ophelia's whisper reached my ear.
"But no dream, however deep, is unbreakable."
Her voice unnaturally clear—I lifted my head, entranced.
Ophelia smiled softly at me.
"It's time to wake up."